


does time stop for the heartless?

by darium



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Arlathan, Elvhenan, F/M, Lavellan will not go down without a fight, Multiple Inquisitors, Slow Burn, Solas is an ass, Time Shenanigans, Time Travel Fix-It, Worldbuilding, always will be, ancient elves - Freeform, because some tags would be spoilery, elgar'nan is a dick, lots of back and forth thoughts, solasmancers be warned, this fic will NOT turn out they way you want it to, will add tags as I go along, you're sick of war? turns out it's just getting started with you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-02-21 15:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18704917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darium/pseuds/darium
Summary: I'm offering you a chance, Lady Lavellan, but you're the only one that can take it.Illara Lavellan had officially decided that there was no more she could do to try to save Thedas; she had waged war, eliminated entire armies, but she still loses. When her last hope for Thedas' survival crumbles away with the lives of her last friends, she gives up, but only to find that she's been offered a chance to fix things. Fixeverything.( despite it all, is it possible to save a world before it realises it needs saving? she thinks that the answer should be yes if shes trying to remain sane )





	1. I'm not saying Thedas is doomed but...

**Author's Note:**

> illara has been on my mind for such a long while that i actually had half of this chapter written up a year ago, but i never had the motivation to finish it until now. with the announcement that bioware is finally directing more attention to DA4, i feel waaay more motivated to do this, since my rage about the scrapped da4 idea can fuel me.
> 
> this chapter was originally condensed into two parts, but since i felt that since this is more of an introductory chapter, it should remain as the thicc chapter it was meant to be. if you have anything you'd like to say to me, comment of shoot my a message :thumbs_up:

Thedas had lost.

It was obvious that she had failed. The fire burning the world to ashes around her, the snowy mountains of the Frostbacks being sizzled outside Skyhold’s walls being clear evidence. Illara had found herself staring at the sky from the once magnificent garden, the hues of orange and red clashing with the grey of smoke. Her body lay against a remnant of a stone seat, cursing herself silently as she gazed upwards. Another time she would have been furious, sobbing at the ground, but all she could feel now was shame. Shame at not meeting her companions one last time. Shame at all the lives that haunted her mind, like film behind the eyes. Shame at her failure. She was too tired for anger, too weary to cry.

Varric’s voice rang through her head, offering a story or two (something he would often do if she looked out of sorts). He would buy her an ale, bring over Bull and Sera, sometimes even Cole, and tell something that he never put to paper. Most of his stories ended happy, unlike his serials, and always earned a good laugh from her and the others. She could remember how the tavern was filled with people, music mingling nicely with all the conversations, the smell of food heavy in the air like a fat nug on a counter. It was peaceful.

She laughed bitterly, scoffing at herself. The memory was nothing but a memory, nothing but a shitty reminder of what she had failed.

Her thoughts directed themselves to her arm. Or, where her prosthetic arm should have been. Dagna had worked so hard for that particular arm to be very difficult to be ripped off, since previously one strong pull and Illara would be armless, however there it was laying beside her, ripped off.

“Sorry, Dagna. People like ripping things I guess.” She whispered. To Dagna’s credit, the prosthetic was _very_ much attached to her, lyrium veins and a pyrophite summerstone metal mix connecting flesh to arm. The arm was sturdy too, having small amounts of silverite holding the entire thing together, though Dagna always said that it would have been better if the whole thing was silverite. Lack of resources made that impossible, so it never had happened. Looking at the arm made her bitter, but her face fell into weariness.

There was no more reason to be bitter, since there was nothing left to be done.

Thedas had lost.

The crack of burned debris made Illara turn her head towards the sound, but instantly she wished she had continued to look above her. He was tired, like her, but he did not seem any happier. She choked out a humorless chuckle.

“This isn’t what you wanted, is it?” It was more a calm observation than a question, lacking any form of venom or spite.

Fen’Harel shook his head and took a place next to her. “This,” he gestured to the sky, “is not what I wanted. Not at all.”

Illara watched at he dipped his head downwards,visibly guilty. His shoulders sagged greatly, the armor he wore slightly battered. His breathing was odd and his diaphragm shook, and then, she realised he was crying. She couldn’t blame him, despite what he had done. The crimes he committed against Thedas were numerous and large, however he thought he was doing the correct thing, only to find out that his hope for a new world never existed. To instigate the destruction of his own dreams was something that one should never have experienced. It was, at least, the most common ground that the pair could share over the past years.

With a sigh, she placed a hand on his shoulder. She refused to speak; she didn’t know what to say. Years went to chasing him, to change his mind and when all else failed, she had tried to kill him. She had nothing to say that she hadn’t said before.

It was a while until he looked up, face stained with tears.

“Do you hate me?” The question was faintly spoken and Illara had barely caught it.

She paused. 

“I… at one point, I did.” She confessed.”I hated you with everything I was, because you were the face of everything I hated. It was only until you took the anchor until I discovered my anger and wrath towards you was more than completely justified.”

He laughed dryly. “Of course.”

“But…”

“But?”

“I realised that… I realised that I hated your actions, more than I hated you.” It was her time to laugh. “It was very stupid of me, I know, perhaps even crazy, but I still… I had faith. I knew your intentions and why you needed to complete your goals, and despite it being pure selfishness, I could only hate what you did to achieve that. I could never hate you because… you were… I…”

She turned to him, only to realise that he was staring at her with a shocked expression. His eyes must’ve caught something in her own, because he backed slightly.

“You still loved me.” The shock in his voice was plain. “You still… why?”

“I fell in love with the person, not just part of him. You are clever in both tongue and mind, you are a genius if you put your mind to it, you are stubborn as a mule and you are selfish in the things you desire. I fell in love with all of that, not just the good things.” She smiled briefly, before looking away in sorrow. “But, like I said, your actions gave me something to hate and hate I did.”

“If I had known--”

“You always knew. You just liked thinking that the pain was repentance. By hurting yourself, by hurting others, you were redeeming yourself.” The tone of her voice was stern. “One doesn’t repent by hurting others.”

There was silence between them for a minute or so, before he spoke up.

“You’re right. It occurs to me that you end up being right especially when I claim to know better.”

He leaned back, resting himself against the same seat Illara was resting on. She’d moved her hand as he did so, not wanting her last hand to be crushed accidentally. Not that she thought he would do that, but simply out of caution. Caution was something she had a lot of, previously.

Of course, he had moved enough to watch the sky comfortably, making her do the same. What did he think of this sky? She had to admit; despite it being a sign that she could possibly die within a few hours, it was beautiful. Perhaps, calling such destruction beautiful was optimistic at best.

“What will you do now?” The question had an obvious answer, one that she forthrightly gave.

“I will wait to die. There is no one left to protect, so I will wait for fire or demons to kill me. Whichever is first. What about you?”

“I shall do the same.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “The great Fen’harel goes down without a fight?” He chuckled in response.

“Without a fight.” He confirmed.

“Why didn’t you do that when you were fighting us? Would still have the best prosthetic Dagna ever made.” 

“Because, _vhenan_ ,” he stated, “there was something to accomplish then.”

“Back to _that_ , are we?"

“Should I stop?”

She laughed again, genuinely this time. “We’re at the end of the line, so I don’t see why not, _vhenan_. But, if that’s the case…” 

She moved over towards him, resting her head against his shoulder. Her eyes closed gently as she got comfortable on his wolf pelt fur thing that rested on top of his armor. “This should be alright.”

Solas was surprised of course, but she was right. He and her were to be swallowed up by flame and demon. There were no more consequences for any of the actions that they did now, only emptiness.

To be honest, he had expected Illara to kill him. He had wanted her to and deliberately went to her location in order for her to strike him in some sort of divine interference. Though, it would have benefitted him more than her; he would be rid of the guilt he harboured for his failure. Though, as much as he wanted to complete his goal, he never gained pleasure from killing this world’s inhabitants. But, he had deemed their lives less important than ones that may have not been there. 

He had not questioned himself often throughout the years. He thought he was right, that he was doing the correct thing. Stubborn as mule, she had said. She wasn't wrong about that. 

Even as the sounds of loud explosions rained around him, all he could think about was the woman next to him. Inquisitor Lavellan, Herald of Andraste. She had gained many titles over the course of the war between her forces and his own, but he preferred to hold onto the ones he knew her as. Once, he'd said that Inquisitor was just as Fen’Harel; badges of honor that struck fear into their enemies and inspiration in their allies. Fen’Harel and Inquisitor were similar in more than one way, he realised. Both fought for their respective people, both revered in their own right, both fighting for worlds they knew. Although, she had received the brunt of accusations. Being an elf fighting against an elvhen army would inspire hatred in some and definitely suspicion within her allies. Those who knew her beforehand knew she once bore a vallaslin, however now she was barefaced which was a common story among the Dalish who joined his cause. Some of the people were so convinced of treachery, that even he had heard of assassination attempts on her life from her own people.

“Solas, I can hear you thinking too hard.” Illara mumbled against him. “Do I have to distract you?”

He let out a low chuckle. “What did you have in mind?” She laughed in response, shaking her head as much as she could in the position.

“Nothing that tone will receive, vhenan.”

“Mmm? This tone? My, what could you mean by that?” He was flirting with her, against his better nature. It just felt… natural at this stage.

“They shouldn't call you a Dread Wolf, they should call you a fox instead, you sly dog.” The weight from his shoulder disappeared as she stood up, picking up her prosthetic and clipping it to her belt. “I have better ideas. Come on!”

Her hand was outstretched before him, offering for him to take it. He smiled a little, before helping himself to it and was up on two feet as quickly as he grabbed it. She had always been strong, given her templar training, but her strength had improved, he noted.

“You have gotten stronger.” He stated obviously. They were walking around Skyhold, moving through the castle slowly.

“It was difficult to make up for the loss of my dominant arm, and my left arm was originally my shield arm.” She glanced briefly at her prosthetic. “It took Dagna a while to build the first arm, so I had to learn to wield a sword again. And that meant training.”

“How many arms did Dagna produce? Your… previous one seems to be of high quality and, not to doubt the arcanist's abilities but, I doubt that was the first.”

“Oh? About… nine?” Illara laughed at the face Solas had made. “Come on, I think nine is a fine number! How many people can say they had nine arms?”

“I'm wondering what happened in order for you to go through nine arms.”

“Oh, simple. Burnt, mauled, ripped off, ripped off, chopped in half, ripped off, mauled again, ripped off and finally, ripped off.” He glanced at her armless shoulder and winced. The flesh there was shredded and remnants of solid flesh was seen as torn meat. The wound look badly cauterised, but enough to stop most of the bleeding. “I gotta say, this latest arm was the one that was most attached to me.”

“How did it…”

“I had taken a crew of men to Skyhold to see if we could reach Morrigan’s eluvian. She had hidden it carefully and the last I saw of her, she told me where it was. It was the last mission that I as Inquisitor would do, my final action in the war. If I could’ve reached the eluvian, I could’ve found a place for my people to live.”

She looked over to a torch that lay on the floor of one of the hallways, and picked it up. She held it to Solas to light, which he did so.

“We had gotten as far as cellar -- the other pathways were blocked off by debris and other things -- until a horde of rage demons had ambushed us, some of which were abominations that formed pre-Umbra.” She continued.

“Pre-Umbra?”

“Pre-darkness essentially. Dorian named it. It refers to the veil being torn down, and well, our general ‘darkness’ in the area. It was funny at the time.” Her chuckle rebounded off the walls. “Moving on, the abominations were something we didn't expect; we thought that the veil being torn down would prevent or even reverse demonic possession. It wasn’t the case. I was never the most magically intelligent but after that, even I could guess that once a demon melds with a body, they can't go back out even post-Umbra.”

“Hmm.” Interesting. He theorized briefly about the effects of the veils being torn down on factors that existed beforehand, such as abominations, however it was not a topic he was focused on. He had, after all, a goal that required most of his attention.

“There were two abominations and two rage demons. They had us flanked from the behind. Luckily, we managed to scrape by and kill the rage demons, however the abominations had wounded Fabian and Tanya -- orleisians who had survived the Alienage Rebellion a couple years ago -- very severely. They had killed only one when the last had dashed for them. I banged my sword against my arm, distracting it away from the two, but I didn't anticipate it to be quick to retaliate. Before I knew it, I was pinned to the ground, my false arm being pulled back behind me.” She dryly laughed. “The pain was the most I'd felt during the entire war; it was like molten rock being poured at the connection between metal and arm, whilst darkspawn clawed and bit, tearing away my flesh. Each metal pin, every lyrium vein -- all was torn out from my arm.”

Solas was horrified. Of course, an artificial arm would require a complex network of lyrium, leather and metal, however one of the Inquisition’s Arcane Enchanter would be the highest quality, meaning it would feel as well as an average arm. Being ripped off… he underestimated it when she first mentioned it, however now it only dawned on him the severity of the circumstance.

“That's not the worst bit.” She replied after seeing his face, her own twisting into a mix of regret, anger and sadness. “Once it was done with me, it went after them. I was barely gripping onto consciousness and all I could witness was the screams and mutilation of my last two soldiers. No, my last two friends.”

The fire crackled in the silence as Illara stopped walking. The atmosphere was definitely tense, and Solas felt that if he said the wrong thing, he wouldn't be sure what would happen afterwards.

“I'm… I'm sorry.” He said after some contemplation.

“Of course.” She sighed. “We’re all sorry nowadays.” Was all she said as they continued through the remains of Skyhold.

After some time, the pair reached a familiar -- well, familiar to Ilara at least -- office. It was Josephine’s office, back when the Inquisition remained in Skyhold. Back then, like the rest of the castle, it was in pristine condition, however now not so much. The bookshelves was partially burnt, some of which lay on the floor, gathering dust over the upturned desk. She eyed the board that Josephine often carried around splayed across the floor. The area looked as if it had been under attack, but Illara knew that it had been years since anyone had been in this part of the castle.

“Surely there’s better places to head to than the war room, vhenan.” Solas’ voice inquired. 

“Surely you realise by now that there’s more in the war room than the table, vhenan.” Illara joked back. “Or are you just humoring me?”

He nodded thoughtfully, and smiled. “Perhaps both.” 

There was a pang in Illara’s heart; he acted as if the war never happened, that they were strolling through Skyhold back when the Inquisition stood tall. She knew nothing could be changed at this point of time but she had changed. Parts of her were sharpened to a point and ached to aim at his throat. She was hardened, years of war and turmoil forcing her to strengthen herself and her resolve, only for it to crumble when he was there. No, no it wasn't him that crumbled it.

It was defeat.

There wasn't a reason to change in order to be victorious anymore, though that reasoning served as an excuse to revert back. Or was it an excuse to forget? Neither of them wanted this, so it would be only logical to want to forget. To forgive.

Illara wanted to laugh at the thought. Forgiveness. What good had mercy done for her? Over and over again, she was betrayed and exploited. She was too forgiving, letting spies roam free in Skyhold and letting them go. Her people would be injured, killed even, due to her forgiveness but she never learnt. She had hope. Misplaced, albeit. Though, she deduced, the worst thing about herself was that if Solas was caught, brought down to her knees and ready for her judgement, ready to die, she would forgive him.

The Maker taught faith. Trust. Illara recognised that He had values that, despite not being Andrastian, she could follow. The Creators taught cleverness. Loyalty. During her Templar training she did have doubts on her faith to the Creators and on the Maker; both were similar but contradicted each other. The Creators demanded no requirement for worship or to show themselves, whilst the Maker is said to have abandoned the world and will turn His gaze back onto the world once all beings turned to him again. However, the Maker is seen through miracles that helped his Children, whilst the Creators were never present. Not for Halamshiral, not for Arlathan. Ironically though, not for Thedas either. 

All this questioning was answered somewhat, at one point. The Creators were false gods, not even gods just very powerful mages. Solas, Fen’harel, Dread Wolf. One of these fake gods, her heart, told her this and then said that the world was fake, that nothing was real. And that he would fix it.

That was something that Illara never really understood; why would he need to fix a world not broken? Did he not learn from history that the world must change and was always changing? The biggest question she tried to understand was why was a false god acting like a real one? What authority did Solas have in order to ‘fix’ the world? She remembered once how he said that the Maker could exist in the same reality of the Creators. He acknowledged that the Creators had every possibility of not being actual gods, just another thing the Dalish lost in translation. Knowing that Solas was Fen’harel and he confirming that the Creators were false, only gave Illara more to hate because then he had no role, no authority to say that the people of Thedas were fake. That they weren't real. 

She sighed. No point in getting upset now. It was all going to be over soon.

“Was it something I said?” Solas’ voice took her out of her thoughts.

She gave him an assuring look. “No, lost in thought. Pondering on the useless,” She chuckled, “You’re aware of the routine.”

“Sovereign for your thoughts?”

“A sovereign? Oh, am I that expensive?”

His head dipped towards her own with enough space between them for a sword to slip through. “You are… priceless.”

She contemplated a kiss. It had been so long since she had one, since she actually wanted one. Solas wasn't her first lover, but he was the thing she ended up craving. Would the kiss be desperate or wild? Slow, sweet, passionate? Would it be like a hunger satisfied, a thirst quenched? Of course, once they begin, he would pull her closer, moving his hands through her hair. His touch would be like lyrium, igniting her blood and adrenaline. She was a templar, but his touch, his kisses, him, would be the closest thing she could experience to magic. A stormy sort of magic, something that would twist and coil in her stomach. All that was just inches away, so close.

“You’re still a flatterer.” she turned her head away, distancing the gap between them, “come on.”

He seemed confused for a moment, before retracting and straightening himself. “Of course.”

It wasn't right. She couldn't do it, no matter how much she wanted it. It was selfish, greedy, all the words that meant that she would have been taking too much. Well, it was rather that it gave him something that he didn't deserve. Not after all that happened.

At last, they reached the door to the war room. This looked the same as ever, as if nothing had touched it.

“I would have assumed that the hole would have been repaired by now.”

“Artistic choice.” She mused. “Cullen was reluctant to patch it up. It's to be expected; have you seen his quarters? There's probably still a hole in his roof.”

He chuckled, “Yes, that does sound like the commander.”

“Mmm, it does.”

A moment of silence.

“Are you going to go in?” Obviously Solas wanted a reason for her stillness. 

She hesitated. The doors were right in front of her, ready to be opened, but, it… it was just… hard. Honestly, she would not be able to say that she didn't know why she was hesitant, because the reason was clear to her. She was afraid. Behind the door was everything she had wanted in the war, her and many others’ hope for the future.

But that hope never came to light.

She swallowed her hesitation and softly smiled, refusing to look at Solas. “I didn’t guide you here just to hesitate. Come.”

The doors groaned as she pushed the doors apart. The wood struggled against her and Illara assumed it was the magical protections that were in place. Morrigan knew how to guard her wisdom, at least. She gesture for Solas to step back and she began to dispel the area, dampening the area with a cloak that prevented magic, albeit temporarily.

“Now push,” she instructed as she reached for the door again, “my abilities hold for only so long.”

That seemed to do the trick, the door freely opening with not as nearly the amount of resistance it had earlier. She should have been happy and excited when she looked into the war room, but all she experienced was inexplicable guilt, sadness and anger.

Because in front of Morrigan’s eluvian stood her son, Kieran, and Dorian Pavus.

“Ah, we were hoping you’d come soon.” Dorian beamed, “I assure you, we weren’t waiting too long, but impatience is probably my only flaw.”

Illara didn’t respond. Her face was stuck in a shocked expression and her hand was clenched. Solas paused behind her, unsure what to do.

Dorian continued. “Regardless, we --”

“Spirit,” Illara practically growled, “break this form now.”

His eyes softened and he tried to take a step forward. “Illa--”

As quickly as he began to utter her name, she had her hand against his throat and dispelled magic in order to force him to change shape. “Break. Your. Form.”

Dorian sputtered and tried to speak, but Illara gripped tighter.

She was beyond furious. She was plagued by the ghosts of her dead friends, saw them in every dream and heard their voices where they once roamed. Now, when she had given up, now, when she had forced herself to move on, a spirit had the audacity to assume her friends once-alive form? She would kill it where it stood. She and Dorian were friends and no matter their disagreements, she mourned hard and heavy for him. She had seen every one of her friends and companions die, read every report of death, and wrote millions of letters filled with sorrow and regrets, only to have this spirit come and spit her sorrow back into her face. Her mind demanded its death, but a gentle hand made its way to her shoulder. Her eyes locked onto Kieran’s face, whose eyes showed gentle pain and understanding.

“Lady Lavellan,” His voice was soothing, just as she remembered it being. “I’m sorry. This is painful, I know. But, please, Dorian isn’t a spirit.”

She searched his face for lies and deceit, but all she saw the boy she had considered as a son. When Morrigan died, when she held the witch, her friend, in her arms, Morrigan told her where her eluvian was but also made her swear to take care of him.

_“Illara,” She sputtered blood, and Illara wiped it away from her mouth._

_“I’m here, I’m here.”_

_The witch coughed, her hands curling around the wound that ripped into her abdomen. “You remember the eluvian,”_

_“Yes.” Illara worriedly nodded._

_“It’s still at,” she groaned, “at Skyhold. War room.”_

_“Don’t worry about that, Morrigan, you’re going to live.” Illara began, “You’ll l--”_

_“Kieran,” She rasped. “Please… treat him as your own.”_

_The battle around them continued, the sounds of metal crashing against metal, the screams of those falling. None of that interrupted the two and Illara thanked the Maker for the peace He was giving to them._

_Tears began to form in her eyes. The inevitable truth was upon her; Morrigan was going to die. She wasn’t going to survive the battle and that wrecked Illara’s heart. She was so tired of losing those close to her, so tired of losing. But she needed a brave face, she needed strength. For Morrigan._

_“I promise, I swear it.”_

_The woman in her arms chuckled softly before sighing. Morrigan looked up to the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor. She looked up to the woman that she had loathed at one point, that she had entrusted with her life._

_“Illara. I have had... little friendship in my life, ‘tis true. However... I do not regret the impact that yours has had on me.” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “‘T’was a grand time you gave me… friend.”_

_Her last breath escaped her._

_The last Witch of the Wilds was dead._

_Illara clenched the corpse in her hands and screamed in anguish and sorrow._

She looked into his caramel brown eyes, and remembered the golden of his mother’s, the promise she had made.

Her grip loosened.

Kieran looked to her sorrowfully. “I’m sorry we’re making you relive a terrible experience. I... ,” He paused, unsure of what to say, but shut his eyes. “I am so sorry.”

At his face, she let go completely and took the boy in her arms. He was barely an adult and yet in all his life, in 20 years, all he had seen was war and suffering. She buried her face into his shoulder.

“No, no it was never your fault,” She wept against him, “I thought you… I, Gods…”

He hugged her tightly back. “I had to flee, forgive me. When Mother died…”

“Hush, you stupid boy.” She pulled back and put his face in her hands. “I’m just happy you’re alive. However…”

The warrior turned to Dorian, who was rubbing his neck. Her eyes turned dark but she resisted any form of violence. “If he is not a spirit, why is he here? Dorian... he…”

“Yes, yes, I died.” His voice was raspy but soon returned to normal. “The best explanation that I could offer you is that it’s complicated, much like an Orlesian family tree.”

Solas spoke up. “Complicated?”

Dorian scrunched up his face in clear disgust at Solas. “Oh, you’re alive. How unfortunate, I thought Illara would have gutted you already.”

“Dorian…” Kieran warned.

The magister sighed, rubbing his temples. “I thought _he_ would finally be dead here, excuse me for my disappointment.”

“‘Dead here’?” The question was large, as implied by the two’s faces. What was the need for secrecy? The world was ending, there was no need to be subtle or reluctant.

Kieran spoke up. “Dorian, by all means, is dead in your world.” He turned away from her, “You’d seen as much.”

He wasn’t wrong; she did. Dorian had been killed in Starkhaven, where a large number of Fen’harel’s army had gathered. She had sent forces to intercept them, along with herself, Dorian and Sera, but what she didn’t expect was ambush to take them by surprise. An elven spy had given them away and it cost Dorian’s life.

“However, he is here, right now, not dead.”

“Mmm, yes, that is so.” Dorian mused. “I’d love to continue this game of back and forth coaxing, but we have a goal. Simply, It involves Alexius and I’s notes on time travel, back in the day. I imagine that was a long time ago for you, Illara, however for me, it has been a few years, four to be frank.”

“I thought I said that we weren’t going to even dabble in that magic?” Illara accusingly pointed out. “I clearly stated --”

“You died, Illara.” Dorian’s voice went quiet. “You were a very close person to me, Illara, and very important to the world. We all went into mourning, and I… I dabbled in time magic.”

“Lady Lavellan, you were essential to the Thedas’ fight against the Dread Wolf, thus Dorian decided that it was only appropriate to try and change the past.” Kieran explained.

She had died. Not only did Dorian imply that he had come from a separate world, a separate time, but she had died. She had died so early. Her gut clenched. Maker, Gods, she couldn’t believe it, she needed to know more. She needed to know what killed her and how she brushed death in her life.

“How,” She demanded, “how was I killed?”

Dorian looked up to Illara with pain etched on his face and then glared at Solas. “Your ‘heart’ sent out spies to a shop in Amaranthine and slew everyone there. You died in that shop, clenching an artifact that you had on you, the one that his spies wanted.” He looked down, “We didn’t know you had died until weeks later.”

She was shocked, understandably so. She had vaguely remembered the shop and the artifact she held was practically insignificant. Death would have carried her swiftly in that shop in another life, and yet it didn’t here. Her own mortality had struck her.

“I…”

“Regardless, that is no longer. “ Dorian dismissed the atmosphere. “Carrying on, I sought to find a way to go to the past. It took longer than I anticipated, but after a while I moved from theoretical to practical application. I won’t claim that I perfected it at first try but I take no care in making this explanation any longer. Blah, blah, time magic, blah, blah, we wanted to find the best possible outcome for Thedas, found it in this world, and here we are! Right now.”

“He doesn’t put it delicately at all but there you have it, Lady Lavellan.” Kieran almost sounded disappointed. “Dorian and I found each other and together we sought to find a world where Thedas had the best chance.”

“And this was the best chance?” Illara was appalled. “Fire and demons are literally pouring from the sky, how is this the best outcome? What are you telling me, that in every world, I am fail to save Thedas one way or another? That we never succeed? That we die in vain?”

“When you put it that way…” Dorian began.

“How else am I supposed to put it? Should I be happy knowing that no matter what, I fail to protect everything and everyone I love? People are dying right now, are suffering right this moment and I am to believe that they would have been doing so anyway? Everyone who is dead, every family I’ve written to, every city I have seen fall, are but simple details that occur no matter what? And even so, you imply that some decisions end with my premature death, that I don’t even reach this point in most worlds. How am I supposed to be glad? Tell me, how must I say it if you know so much?” Illara cried. “This is not like Redcliffe, where I could wish that this future never happened, because this time it has happened to me! It was more than real to me and the fact there are worse worlds out there does not comfort me in the slightest.”

Silence hung in the room.

Illara wanted to weep. What had been good news to Dorian was tragedy to Illara. How could she not feel helpless in this situation? Thedas had lost and this was the best chance it had? She beat herself, how she should’ve lead better, how she should’ve not been so merciful. Why had it come to this? Why did it never matter? She placed her hand on her face. This war was harsh, but this news made it worse.

“If only we didn’t need to prove we were real.” She whispered. “If only we didn’t need to fight.”

Kieran reached out for her but hesitated. Instead, he gestured to the eluvian.

“You can change it. Dorian’s meddling in the past was successful.” He placed a hand tentatively on hers and pulled it down as to softly smile at her. “Lady Lavellan, you can change it from where it began.”

By now, she held a responsibility towards Thedas and its protection. Her service as Inquisitor and as the leading figure of Thedas in the war told her that she was needed by the people constantly. This chance to save it from the future, from her present, was the smallest of pushes to do one last thing for Thedas.

Her eyes locked onto his. “How?”

As if on cue, the eluvian crackled.

Dorian chuckled. “Well, certainly it seems whatever higher power is here, they have a flair for the dramatic.”

The Tevinter began to move towards the eluvian and it crackled more with magic as he held his hand up to it. Magic collected to his palm like static and dispersed as he moved away. “It seems to be working incredibly well, anyhow.” He turned to Illara, “The eluvian is basically connected to the same magic that the amulet had, thus making it your portal through time.”

“You have changed the eluvian’s purpose.” Solas stated. He stepped forward, reaching out to the mirror. “Inte--”

Kieran pushed his hand down, eyeing him angrily. Illara could see he was trying hard to not take a step further, justifiably so. “Don’t even step in this direction. I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done, _harellan_.” His voice shook with raw disgust.

Illara was hit with guilt. Moments ago she said to herself that it didn’t matter anymore, that they were going to die soon. She had used those thoughts to dismiss her own regrets, thoughts and views about Solas, however she realised that she in turn was justifying Solas’ sins. That she was forgetting all the terror that he had purposely brought upon the world. And it took Kieran’s fury, the fury of a boy that had lost everything, to realise that.

Maker, she was a godforsaken idiot.

All that bullshit about defeat, about the inevitability of everything, didn’t do anything and it sure as hell wasn’t an excuse for her to encourage Solas to pity himself. Why did she act as if nothing could change? No, whether or not it could change, she basically spat on Thedas with every indulgence that she gave him. There were signs to stop everywhere, the burning sky and demons being one of them!

What would her friends had thought? Their disapproval for her continuous faith towards Solas should’ve been enough of a clue from even before the war! She could’ve been harsher, she could’ve been the leader that would win for Thedas. Instead, she was star-crossed fool and a naive brat, one that was so full of self-pity and despair that she dismissed the delusions of the person who had destroyed everything.

The crimes he committed against Thedas were numerous and large and him being under a delusion should not have excused him. She may have still loved the bastard, she may have still wanted to live with him even, live out their days, but he needed more than just the failure of his plan. He needed consequence and punishment.

And now, she refused to give him anything else.

“He has a point, Solas.” She narrowed her eyes. “A very valid point. I don’t need to remind you that everyone in this room has a grudge against you.”

“I see.” He remained neutral, as if trying to not give away any sort of reaction. “However, what do you aim to accomplish? How certain are you about the success of your plan?”

“It’s time magic, nothing is certain about it.” Dorian quipped. “However, we were willing for any chance. It’s not everyday an elvhen god pops out from the Fade and starts destroying everything.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Solas strained out.

“Maybe the answer isn’t something we want to share with you.” He pointed his hand at Solas. Dorian waved his hand down. “So, stop asking. Take a hint.”

Solas tsked in anger but backed away from the eluvian, knowing that he couldn’t fight back. It simply wasn’t his place. He sighed as he turned and went towards the door.

“You wish to tell Illara -- that I understand -- thus, I take my leave.” He said as he left the war room.

As soon as the door closed, the two men relaxed.

“Illara, dear, would it kill you to just murder him?” Dorian suggested, “It would satisfy all of us, if I’m being honest.”

Kieran sighed deeply. “Dorian, have a bit more respect for Lady Lavellan’s position.”

“It’s alright, Kieran.” Her frame heaved with a large exhale. “I should have stopped loving him years ago.”

She walked up to Dorian, tentatively raising a hand. “I… I never apologised for --”

“--strangling me?” The Tevinter chuckled and pulled her into a hug. “At least you didn’t go for my face. It’s my only asset you see.”

She clutched to him. It had been so long since he had even looked alive and this was a rare luxury that she would never receive anymore. She had her disagreements with Dorian, but he was as much as her family as the templars she grew up with.

Almost reluctantly she pulled away and turned her attention to the eluvian. “So, time magic and mirrors. Care to explain?”

“Of course. We spent a while attuning the magical theory that Dorian and Magister Alexius created in order to connect it to an eluvian. Since eluvians are magical portals that connect to certain points, we just… changed that point.” Kieran explained. “It involved changing the magical theory itself, since we had to determine factors that would either forward time or rewind it, however once those factors were out of the way, we were able to complete and apply it to the mirror.”

Dorian laughed. “Aptly put, Kieran!” He nodded. “Yes, like he mentioned, the eluvian’s point of destination has changed; instead of a where, however, we made it a when.”

“So, what? You’re telling me that the eluvian makes me travel through time?” Illara questioned, backing away slightly from the mirror. Honestly, she didn’t want to risk the magic activating before it was time.

“That’s exactly what we’re telling you!” Dorian exclaimed, before glancing downwards and bringing his hands together. “However, we do realise that… that, well, your last experience with time magic, unless you experienced time magic again in your lifetime, was a little more than traumatic for you. It took me a while to realise this, I suppose, but seeing you die so many times at different places, places where in my life you lived, it clicked. Of course, it wasn’t just you; Bull, Vivienne, Cassandra, Varric, everyone that we knew dying was… honestly? Something I wouldn’t have wished on anybody.”

Illara paused and smiled sadly. She placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing his eyes to her own. “I know.”

There was a beat of silence before Dorian had pulled Illara into a hug, his arms gripping tight around her. Illara just leaned into her friend’s embrace and hugged back.

Undoubtedly, this proved to be a painful topic for them both. Dorian had watched his friends die, Illara had done the same, and it seemed like death became a bonding experience for them. Illara eyed Kieren, who seemed to be patiently waiting for the two to have their moment but it there was tension in his posture. Fair enough, as there was a literal crackling mirror that was waiting to be used, and also the fact that in mere hours Skyhold would be overrun with demons.

Illara pulled back from the hug, only to warmly smile at him. “How admirable you are; to think I once argued with you that slavery is bad,” He scoffed, clearly remembering that conversation. “Hey, only teasing; you're too pretty for me to be serious. “

Another scoff. “I know you used the word ‘pretty’ but that hardly felt like a compliment.”

“Don't you bother that handsome moustache of yours by thinking too hard,” Illara teased but slowly peeled herself away from him. “Though, I'd like to bother my pretty head with saving Thedas.”

Kieren leap at the opportunity. “Are you ready?”

Illara thought about Solas, who was standing just behind the door. Solas who she had given her all to. Solas who had taken everything away from her. She nodded. 

“Tell me the plan.”


	2. City of Spires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got impaitient and finished this chapter really early, so i decided to post it! I'm hoping to still release a chapter next week on friday as well, so I don't totally destroy my own schedule lol
> 
> also from now on these chapters will be unbeta'd because im a goof and figured i need one, so if you're interested, shoot me a message on here, or feel free to contact me via discord (macbeth #6508)!!
> 
> Translations for any foreign language used in the fic will be commented, so if you wanna stick with immersion you're not bombarded with translations :thumbs_up:  
> Please let me know if I can do something to my writing to make it easier to read, like less italics, clearer dialogue ques and etc etc :heart: !!

There was no plan involved really; due to how Alexius’ magic interacted with the magic of the eluvian, Kieren and Dorian explained that they could only test whether or not the mirror could lead people to different points in time.

They went briefly into some of the isolated tests they did as Illara figured that they didn’t do too many of those before deciding to go through the mirror themselves. She guessed that both were eagar and that even if it turned out slightly differently, they still had the mirror to go back to. Dorian had explained that the amulet was powering the mirror and with it, they could send Illara backwards.

“Though, Lady Lavellan,” Kieren cautiously began, “there is a slight problem.”

“Well, I’m not expecting this to come without any risks. What is it?”

The boy bit his lip as if guilty -- a habit he picked up from his mother, for sure -- and then looked Illara in the eyes. He was definitely serious. Her eyes shifted over to Dorian, who had looked away as well. What was going on?

“Lady Lavellan… we can’t bring you back, once you go through the mirror.”

She blinked.

Dorian spoke up. “It’s true, Illara. We won’t be able to do anything to bring you back.”

“Since you’re going back into the past into a time before the Inquisition was formally made -- vague, I know -- we can't guarantee that there will be a functional mirror for you to come back with,” Kieren started to ramble, “Dorian and I tried it once; we managed to enter a time shortly before Mother came to Skyhold. The mirror had simply dumped us in a storeroom and we had to wait weeks to activate the mirror and travel again. You… will not have the luxury of waiting weeks, Lady Lavellan and more importantly, you will not have the amulet with you, so even _if_ you waited for the mirror, you wouldn't be able to travel back.”

“What Kieren is trying to say is that you will be trapped in whichever past you end up in.”

That concluding line had made everyone completely silent. Dorian had finally made eye-contact with Illara, so much in fact, she could see herself in them. 

A laugh had bubbled up inside her until she practically shrieked with laughter. The two mages were completely shocked at her response; they had just explained that she would never return. 

This _was_ a serious point but they had failed to see that never returning was the _fucking point_. Why would she want to come back to a ruined Thedas? Was it not established that Illara would do anything to prevent the ruin of her world?

“Maker…” She chuckled, “I thought the problem would be more like ‘the mirror will send you hurtling through the air with no way to stop it’ or ‘it'll cripple your only working arm’. You two do realise that I wouldn't intend to return here, right?”

A whisper from Orlais could probably be heard with how silent things were, likely because the two were processing Illara’s response. They had been used to returning to different times and jumping back and forth, so they probably hadn't considered the option of no return. 

Dorian was the first to speak. 

“You're right, Illara. I suppose it was wishful thinking that we’d all get back together and drink -- Kieren, you are old enough to drink, right?”

“Uh, yes, I suppose so?”

“Brilliant.” He paused, “Yes, I just… I've just thought about telling different you’s about saving the world and how you died and how terribly I've missed you, that I forgot we _are_ sending you on a suicide mission. Silly me, of course, but you can hardly fault me.”

She chuckled. “I thought I can't fault you for anything?”

“Well, one of us is on top of things.” Dorian mirthlessly chuckled. “If we miss her so much, Kieren, why don't we set up a point of time we can meet her and have drinks then, hmm? Illara, if a Dorian comes up to you and says that practicality is better than fashion, it's me because no one would say something that wrong without a purpose.”

Illara was sure that he meant it sarcastically, but that was a fair idea. He was right; having the three of them together and doing something would comfort her a great deal, even if it was only because they shared common knowledge. Though, she was wiser than her initial instinct. Suggesting he'd do that would make her all the more lonelier, wherever she had ended up. She would wait ever so patiently for a sign and just end up disappointed. 

She decided that changing the topic would be a better course of action. 

“Of course, Dorian. But can you tell me what I need to do?”

It was Kieren who spoke up. “Well, we'll activate the mirror with the amulet, make sure the magic is in order, and then… you go through.”

Mm. There was going to be some waiting.

“How long would this all take?”

He pondered for a moment and nodded. “About five minutes.”

Illara had figured then that if she was going to say goodbye to Solas, if at all, she would have to do it now.

He deserved a goodbye, especially with all they've been through. Yes, they were ultimately on the opposite sides of each other for the last decade of their lives, but there were still unspoken nuances and rituals the two had. He would say hello. She would say goodbye.

With thoughts of goodbye, the ring that lay on the leather necklace she wore burnt her skin, reminding her that this could very well be the final meeting with the man she loved. The ring was a joint effort between Dagna and Illara, right before Corypheus, something that she wanted made before the final battle, or so she had thought. Gingerly, she pulled it out. The band was made with a mix of polished wood and stormheart, while paragon’s luster was used to make a thin base for the gallery of the ring. More luster was used for metal work around the top of the ring, a small motif of leaves adorning the top. Engraved on the gallery was the word ‘ **bellanaris** ’.

Eternity.

She could feel the faint but powerful enchantment it had, surprised it still worked. The enchantment itself was that in circumstances of death, the ring would create a barrier of pure energy to protect whoever wore it. It was made like that as the ring was meant to serve as a wedding band; she had intended to ask Solas to marry her some time after it all. It was laughable now and hurt no less than it did when he said he was leaving, but the love behind the ring was still there. This would’ve made it suitable to give the ring now, if at any other time. Should she?

She glanced at it for a brief while, before placing the ring back around her neck.

It would mean too much for her to give it now. She wouldn’t be able to live without it’s weight now. 

Instead she called over to Dorian. “Could I speak with you, Dorian?”

The mage said something to Kieren, before walking over to where Illara was standing. “What’s happening?”

“I…” She thought quickly, “...wanted to see what you and Kieren plan to do after this?”

Dorian nodded, “Hmm, well, we thought that they would be merit in looking where you actually _landed_. When you go through, the mirror will release the tiniest trace of the ‘magic’ in your area, which hopefully we can figure out what we can actually _do_ with that information.”

“You can do that?”

He laughed. “Not yet, but hopefully we’ll figure it out. Who knows, Kieren and I might author a book together, then get it banned by the Chantry; I’ve always wanted to write something banned by the Chantry. I heard it’s all the rage in the Magisterium.” He paused awkwardly, “Or, it used to be, anyway.”

“...I forgot that you’re not _my_ Dorian.”

“Are you seriously implying I did something the Chantry banned? Maker, retrospectively, I am _always_ in fashion.”

That made her laugh. No matter what timeline he had come, he was the same as always; fashion, gossip, and wanting to do the right thing.

“Lady Lavellan, Dorian, I believe the mirror is ready.” Kieren’s voice spoke up.

The two walked towards the mirror.

The magic emanating from Morrigan’s eluvian was crackling with soft gold power, how loud it was a testament to how much magic went into the bloody thing. It felt like the morning sun was condensed into electricity through the mirror’s surface. The moment Illara stepped through the mass, there would be no going back and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kieren called out over the sound. “Lady Lavellan, I know you are aware of what needs to be done, but I will repeat in just in case; you need to stop Fen’Harel from destroying Thedas. We don’t know if we can give you another chance, so please treat this like your only one”

Illara nodded.

“Is there anything you wanted to say, Lady Lavellan?”

She smiled, glancing at Dorian. “Live well, Dorian. I hope you find happiness.”

Dorian scoffed but she could tell he was tearing up. “Take your own advice, Illara. No one deserves to be that miserable for so long.”

Her eyes drifted towards Kieren and her face was warm and soft. After Morrigan died, she really did take her last promise to the witch seriously. He disappeared perhaps six months after his mother passed, but Illara had always thought of the boy as her own son. Still did.

“Kieren…” She took a couple steps towards him, and placed a kiss on his forehead, “You have always made me proud. Your mother thinks the same, I’m sure of it.”

“Lady Lavellan…” His jaw tightened and loosened before he gave a smile that looked difficult to form. “Thank you.”

Finally, her gaze steeled towards the mirror. She was heading into the unknown; they had no idea what was beyond this mirror beside the fact it was Thedas before the Inquisition. 

This oddly reminded her when Bull had slammed the bottle of Dragon’s Piss they found in front of her, one night she was in the tavern. Bull, Vivienne, Sera and her had killed a dragon that day and Bull thought that it was an appropriate time to get absolutely pissed. How that night ended depended on who you asked, but they all had a common beginning and a common end: she had said “fuck it” and chugged the entire bottle and she had ended up mud-wrestling her Avaar War-Nug.

She smiled and chuckled under her breath. “Fuck it.”

And she let gold light envelop her as she went through the eluvian.

For some reason, she had expected falling, as if the eluvian was perpetually stuck in the sky and she would be plummeting down towards Thedas. Instead, she found that the mirror had dumped her in what seemed to be a brighter and more… constructed Crossroads. Unlike when she was here during the Qunari attack, the architecture appeared more intact. Perhaps shortly before the attack, they were relatively untouched?

Behind her was a broken eluvian and from where the glass was underneath her feet, her arrival had been what shattered it. She speculated that Morrigan’s eluvian had just dumped her through another eluvian that was active elsewhere, but in the process she had destroyed.

 _I suppose_ , she thought, _I should figure out where I am. I hope it’s still Ferelden -- or Orlais, wouldn’t mind_ ma ville natale.

Orlais was her home city, long, long ago. Originally she came from Clan Lavellan, but as they made their way to Ferelden from the Free Marches, she… found herself in Val Royeaux and became a trainee templar. Maker, that was years ago but as a side effect was her fluency in Orlesian.

Orlais was a harsh memory for her, one that she preferred to revisit later. First, her location. 

She was quite lost but at least she could admire the beauty of what she was seeing; powerful and beautiful trees adorned bridges, flowers were in bloom and it was prettier than anything she'd ever seen. Perhaps she only thought this because of how _her_ sky had looked, how the plants and trees were dead and dry. The air around her felt energised, like with every breath she could taste electricity.

The attack surely did so much damage to this place.

After a while of wondering and trying to traverse the unfamiliar roads, using only her flimsy memory of the place to navigate in vague directions, she decided she needed to rest.

_This area… is much bigger than I remember it to be. Solas had mentioned that it was a pocket in the Fade, but this is more of an entire caravan than a single pocket._

She had set herself up a makeshift campfire -- or it would've been a campfire fire if she could start a fire with one arm -- and a pile of leaves in case she decided she needed to lay down a bit. She wasn't particularly fond of the idea of falling asleep on territory she wasn't familiar with but she figured that if she collapsed there, would be something there to soften the fall.

“Ahn av'ahn'su'vi'inadj rahn ma ane, ni,” A voice rang out to her. “Dirthas em, ane mar nedan?”

Illara looked up, surprised to see an elf smile warmly at her.

Judging from the way they spoke elvhen and bore vallaslin, she assumed them to be Dalish. The elf was dark-skinned with dark, dense hair that had seemed to take a lot of effort to maintain, and rounder facial features. On their face, they bore Ghilan'nain’s vallaslin, the red of their marks matching where Ghilan'nain's was once on her own.

Illara admittedly never knew much elvhen, much to everyone's surprise. They assumed she was Dalish due to her vallaslin but truth be told, she was no more Dalish than a city elf was. So, she had no clue what the elf was saying. She had picked up only a little elvhen during the war with Fen’Harel, but nothing too complex.

She gulped and smiled, waving her hand. “Aneth ara, falon. Good day to be hunting, I suppose?” It was a good idea to move onto common before the Dalish thought she knew more elvhen, though she looked more city elf than one of their own. Perhaps this elf was much friendlier than other Dalish?

They made a strange expression at Illara before looking down with their face contorting into shock. They quickly scrambled towards her, giving her no real time to react before examining the stump-of-an-arm she had.

“Tel'onhar ma av'ahn! Mar'lav diane banafela!” The elf was frantically examining her with Illara trying to assure that she was fine. She hadn't lost much blood in the past hour or so, so she'd be ok. “Min ladaral din'on fra'ga -- Ir dalemath ladarelan Is'en unladaral.”

It didn't look like the elf was going to harm her but Illara really didn't have time for people to be checking out her arm without asking. She wasn't a spectacle or something to be prodded at. 

Her gritted her teeth, trying to back away. “Look, I appreciate the offer bu--,”

“Ahn garem, av'ahn'lin?” The elf looked sad and angry at the same time and Illara would've been more perceptive of that if she had been able to understand the Dalish. Surely, her speaking common was a clear and blatant symbol of her lack of understanding, yes? No need to emphasise the matter that her elvhen was lacking.

Illara spoke. “Listen, Ir abelas, but I'm afraid I'm fine, thank you. Ma serannas.”

The elf looked more confused and looked over their shoulder, saying something at perhaps another one of their companions and then a glowing spirit came up to them. 

She froze. 

A spirit, an actual spirit, alongside a traveller? In the Crossroads more or less? This had been too strange to understand given on what she had known about the elvhen, the Dalish, and spirits, on top of being disoriented from the time leap. She needed to find out which year she was in before everything she never knew drove her insane.

“ _What are you doing here?_ ” The spirit made Illara feel soft, safe. “ _Everything was overflowing and you wanted to save the parts that spilled, but there was too much to catch._ ”

The other elf looked concerned at the spirit, saying something and looking back at Illara. They had backed away a little as if understanding that they were crowding her but they still seemed to want to tend to her.

“ _We want to heal the hurt,_ ” The spirit gestured to the elf. “ _He doesn't understand why you don't want help. Let us help you._ ”

She paused. “... What is your nature, spirit?”

“ _Familiar, reminds me of a friend I saw being twisted and contorted. I believe you've met me before, just… a bit different._ ”

“You are a spirit of compassion, then?”

“ _Yes. Let us help you,_ ” It stopped before seemingly bowing its head. “ _We mean only to soothe. Heal the hurt… you deserve more than to walk on broken feet, friend._ ”

Illara cautiously looked over to the elf. The spirit had prompted a point that she only just realised; if she had walked into the nearest city, she would have alarmed residents about her injury. Of course, the spirit was addressing her own emotional turmoil – it was only too familiar to how Cole used to operate – but Illara knew it was stupid not to take up on the spirits offer. It could not harm her otherwise its nature would be twisted and the elf could not do so either without twisting the nature of the spirit. 

_If all comes to worse, at least you're still a templar, she thought._

“ _You hold more power over us than you realise, stranger. I do not understand how your power translates currently but I see what it means to_ you _. And how that may affect_ us _. Give no harm to my companion._ ”

A silent oath was made between the two; no harm would could to the elf in front of her.

Compassion turned to its companion and explained something which seemed to draw a serious expression from her. The two discussed a little while before the elf approached again though this time more calmly, and began to work on cleaning up her wound.

During the procedure, Compassion explained that its companion, Valosa previously of Lord Taeralan – Valosa flinched at the name – was running away from his master. Illara felt wrath and sadness boil up inside her, which was soothed by Compassion’s voice. It began to describe his favourite flower and what made him happy, all the while translating back whatever Valosa was saying to Illara. 

The two had a peculiar relationship, Illara noticed. Compassion acted with great care concerning the well-being of Valosa, calling itself a friend guide. The two acted like old friends who were in the process of rediscovering each other.

Once the healing was done, Illara had gone to say her thanks before Compassion stopped her.

“ _Home is never safe, never a gentle wind, never completely free, felt like a leaf in a storm of fire. Surprises are flames that lick too close to the edge: always wondered if the leaf would dance away or be consumed,_ ” It touched her face and Illara felt warmth flush into her skin. It was trying to soothe her. “ _Never liked surprises because they are ambushes; flame licking and burning. I can't help the hurt you will get but if you don't hurt from it now, it becomes a greater pain. I am sorry._ ”

Her eyes softened but she remained questioning. “Thank you, but what do you mean? What hurts me?”

“ _Follow me._ ”

Before she could say anything, the spirit began to move, forcing Illara to follow suit. 

As they all went further into the Crossroads, Illara noticed that more and more people could be seen. There were clearly merchants, herding what seemed to be halla with packs and produce, simple traveller types, and even what seemed to just be large parties of people.

More and more, her suspicions arose about the magic used for the mirror specifically in the area of travel. The Crossroads were nothing but abandoned in Thedas, used by a few who knew them and by Fen’Harel’s army predominantly. Illara knew that Briala’s people had been using the eluvians decades before the Breach but Illara wasn't a fool nor was she naïve.

All the people here were elves, yes, but all wearing vallaslin? _All of them_ couldn't be Dalish.

Compassion led her further into the main road, where a large eluvian could be seen, dwarfing any she had seen before. Giant, dead looking trees stood guard at the sides of the eluvian and Illara realised they weren't trees; they were Varterrals. 

“ _Incomparable, spires instead of wooden walls, something_ the People _could be proud of._ ” Compassion seemed to confirm her hidden realisation as they pushed past the crowd.

“ _Beauty in the way that all empires are beautiful: blood, sex, addiction, power. They mattered then, only they would matter now, wish I could have seen why he wanted to kill us so badly._ ”

She understood.

Compassion had let her walk past the eluvian herself, stopping Valosa from disturbing her.

The initial feeling of moving through the mirror was as similar as it was moments before she met the pair, but the sight that beheld her was different. Far, far different than anything she had anticipated.

“ _Arlathan._ ”

From looks alone, it surpassed whatever beauty it was compared to in the modern day and even what Solas had said on the matter was a fumbling attempt to describe city that was the capital of the Elvhenan, and Illara could see it was a title well deserved.

Towers of crystal could be seen from where she was, reaching up to the sky as if in pursuit of the stars. She had the pleasure of seeing the White Spire of Val Royeaux though it could very little compared to the magnificence of what she could see. The City itself wasn’t gold as she thought it would have been then again, a city of gold would be easily targeted. She noticed the reach of the great forest surrounding the city and then how there seemed to be little platforms that hovered near towers. 

_Scratch being subtle_ ,she thought to herself.

Though, even the beauty of the city did not deter Illara away from the glaring fact that, yes, she was in Thedas and went through a time before the Inquisition was made, but this was too far. This was _the Elvhenan_ , the heart of the People.

She knew nothing of this place in truth -- fairy tales and retellings never counted -- which ultimately meant that she was no longer at the advantage she thought she would be at; she would now have to aim to defeat the Dread Wolf, at the _height_ of his power, on _his_ grounds. There was nothing advantageous about it. More than that, she was alone. She could find allies, that wasn’t the matter, it was that no one could possibly share her experiences that were intricately tied to a modern Thedas. There were a whole different set of experiences in this time that she had no experience with and on top of that, _she needed to kill a god in his own time_.

Compassion was right; this was going to hurt, a lot.


	3. Eyes of a God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so exams and assessments hit me really hard, so I'm super sorry about that!!  
> I really, _really_ wanna get another chapter up on Friday to make up for the week I missed, but we'll see how we go :thumbs_up:
> 
> Also, sorry for the slow pacing and the heap of dialogue, I just really need to get some things out of the way, exposition and world-wise, so our lass can actually start doing fun stuff :heart::heart:

Once, Vivienne had told Illara that plans change and we could do nothing but adapt to the new situation. Of course, you could fail to do so but what mattered was trying. Wishing for it be over would not make it so; you had to work for it and hard. ‘Persistence, darling,’ she would say, ‘is a word used for cockroaches. You must aim to be adaptable under all circumstances, so you may keep your stance and support it as much as you’d like, but not struggle with blending in. Much like fashion, dear; you may like last year’s hat, but it is not appropriate for this year’s gala so don’t wear it for that particular occasion.’. 

Illara hadn’t really understood the advice until Halamshiral; for your personal ideals to survive the world, you must survive socially.

The first step to achieving anything was to find allies, she had concluded, and what better place to start than through Valosa and Compassion? It worked out for Illara; she owed Valosa an arm and she had yet to repay that debt, Compassion serving a part in that debt. She hadn't expected to find herself indentured to someone the moment she hit the timeline though she was grateful nonetheless.

It was a shock to be here, however. She also hadn't expected Arlathan to be ‘a time before the Inquisition was formed’, though she supposed that there was an Inquisitor before herself. 

“ _‘A time before the Inquisition was formed’ but there were two, weren't there? Made that mistake once, swore it wouldn't happen again, Ameridan, I’m sorry_.” Briefly, it stopped. “ _You didn't forget him; you promised. Seeds of faith watered by loyalty and you keep them well-fed._ ”

Illara said nothing. Compassion put a spectral hand on her shoulder, somehow the warmth of the spirit pushing past her armour.

“ _Lives through your memories, even if you were blinded by simple hope. It is more than forgivable, friend. You haven't killed his plant yet._ ”

A voice shouted out to the two.

“Andara!” Illara looked at the person speaking.

It was one of the caravan members that Valosa had introduced Illara to. He had originally meant to meet up with the caravan but was delayed with his encounter with Illara at the Crossroads. Compassion translated that the members would be happy to take her to Arlathan, at Valosa’s request, since Valosa had stated she was recently injured. She had wanted to laugh at that -- recently injured? She’s had worse.

Though, past injuries don’t impact the severity of current ones, she thought.

The caravan member plopped himself in front of where Illara was sitting on the caravan -- which was more like an aravel, if anything, but far larger and brighter sails -- and put a hand over his heart with a little bow.

“Andara, ar ame athlanem Evune’miol, ma alana athlan em Miol.” He smiled.

His hair was a disheveled brown that seemed like he would have bed head, shake his head a couple times, swipe it upwards and that was his normal hair. She could see June’s vallaslin trail down his face, gold lines looking as if they carved a way through dark skin.

Compassion leaned in. “ _His name is Evune’miol -- Moth -- but call him Miol._ ” It cocked its head and continued onwards. “ _What should I tell him?_ ”

“My name is Illara and I’m grateful for his help.” She smiled back at Miol. Compassion relayed the words back and he chuckled.

“Ar’an tel’unelana vara ma yu, hahren! Ehn ar’an ea tel’halani ni,” A smirk emerged from his lips. “Nuva ar av’ahna ma o’Illara? Ar ame av'ahn'su'vi'inadj.”

Illara sputtered. Hahren? She wasn’t that old-looking, was she?

“ _He states that we couldn’t leave you stranded, otherwise they would not be elvhen if they had done so. June hates the moon but this one thrives in its pale reverence; friend, he appreciates warmth as in his own heart he believes a flame is to be shared. Elvhen help elvhen._ ” It continued. “ _He asks if he has permission to inquire about yourself, since he is curious._ ”

“It would entirely depend on his questions, though there’s no harm in asking.” She needed to be friends with these people -- they seemed friendly enough and Compassion would tell her if they would hurt her. At the very least, Miol seemed to genuinely be out to help people.

Compassion nodded. “ _Very well._ ”

Miol was in no way prying; he seemed to take her answers at face value and not assume anything deeper. She had told him that she came from a town in the mountains -- which she hoped to imply Haven’s future location -- and that she was a hunter. She explained to Miol that she had moved on from her family a long time ago and was simply a wanderer.

As more questions were asked, more of the caravan were interested in what she had to say, even if she hadn’t really thought of it as interesting. A lot of the questions focussed on her skills and her tastes in things such as alcohol, fabrics, armour, and not in the things she would have asked herself. That is, until one of them asked about her arm.

“Ahn garas mar lav? Ra britha mor’telam.” The elf said.

She had noticed that Valosa was quite agitated after a question that Ise – or so she thought her name was – asked, seeing how he shook his head and seemed to firmly tell Ise something. Compassion sensed her confusion, because it leaned in to Illara.

“ _The one that calls herself Ise has inquired about your arm,_ ” It nodded towards Valosa. “ _My companion is frustrated at the terms of which Ise has done so._ ”

“…What do you mean?”

It cocked its head. “ _She at first asked what happened to your arm, though followed with ‘ra britha mor’telam’. In your tongue, this would roughly mean: it looks fucked up. Valosa thinks it was not kind to say that bit._ ”

“All’s well,” Illara chuckled, “Tell Valosa it’s alright, I feel he’s going to get worked up if you don’t.”

Valosa seemed to calm down but gave her a reassuring look that said, ‘if it bothers you, you can say something’. Illara smiled appreciatively and the question about her arm was asked again.

She couldn’t just say that ‘oh, my ex-lover took it from me ages ago, so I’ve using prosthetics but the thing about those is that I’m always in dangerous situations so they’re always getting ripped off or mauled off, this recent one doing just that. Did I mention that my ex-lover – who I still love to be honest with you – is Fen’Harel? No? Well, there’s that. Oh, and I came to kill him? To save my world? Oh yeah, I’m from the future as well, like I’m not sure how many years into it, but yeah, future!’. 

She could’ve laughed at herself; they weren’t living lie detectors. She could say that she ate it in the womb and they’d have to take that at face value. The only thing that would’ve worried her was if there was a magical signature left from the anchor and that they could tell who it was from.

She decided to go with a partial but believable truth. “A wolf ate it, among other things,” She laughed, “I was always a careless hunter. A wolf had found its way to me, but I lost it’s tracks. I was hunting it for years until, one day, I saw it again. I was so surprised to see the wolf that day, I forgot I was in danger.”

With that, she received a long look from Compassion.

_It’s cathartic to tell the truth, even if it’s a little bit, Compassion. Give me this_ , she thought to it. It nodded and relayed what she said to the crew.

Ise seemed satisfied with the answer and questioning resumed.

Eventually, the only two that were talking were Valosa and the other caravan members, whereas Illara had sought to walk on her own. The group had set camp for the night as reaching Arlathan was a day away and the crew decided they earned some well-deserved rest. She took it as an opportunity for her to be alone in her thoughts, even if it was for a little bit.

Her feet had taken her to a small collection of rocks in the field that was next to the main path to Arlathan and she had decided to rest a little. She turned her gaze to the night sky.

Never had she thought she'd be in the world of the ancient elves. It was a fascination and fantasy of the Dalish, to be among the elvhen, to be among the People, among their kind. Fair enough, Elvhenan was highly exaggerated in order to fit this perfect picture, she supposed; there were slaves, bloody battles, all of which ended with rebellion and death.

_Like any other empire_ , she thought to herself.

Still, this was her opportunity to change things to save her entire world. It wasn't like Solas – kill the people to save the people. She only had to kill one man, one person.

" _Do you really think that'll help you?_ "

The wispy, almost ethereal voice of Compassion spoke next to her. Of course, it would follow her.

"It's the only thing I can think of," she admitted. "I don't even know if it would even work, but I've got to at least try. My world deserves a chance to grow just as much as Solas'."

" _Used to think that destruction, in some ways, was beautiful; how a branch burns has a certain music to it, a lullaby for the worst of us. The Breach erupted from the sky, shining, simmering, burning,_ " it said, " _Hurt so many people, found it hard to make it beautiful anymore. Restoring the sky made the Avaar make sense -- the Sky is a Lady -- and to see her battered and burnt was not beautiful. It never would be_."

She remembered what Thom had told her back at Haven, back before her biggest problem was the Breach and the Chantry. He said to her that the bloody hole in the sky was a lot more threatening up close, but you couldn't deny that it looked a little pretty. Impending doom and beauty had a lot in common, she figured, but she learnt to not think about it. Why smell burning flowers if you had the ability to save them?

" _Friend, don't. You do not understand what he means to the people._ " it urged, " _The D_ \--"

"I'm sick of hearing about the people, Compassion. Give me more of a reason because I have had enough of ‘for the People’," Her voice was blunt. ‘The People’ was an old excuse.

It continued cautiously, " _If you kill him, you will have no life to save. A barrier between us all, vibrations shaking the very foundation of what we know -- the Fade. Civilisations are gone, but history is history. You want your friends; you will be hurt if they do not exist._ "

What was it getting at? There was something she was missing, and the spirit knew what.

" _People are pottery, built from clay, the hands that shape them are their own pain, tears, experiences, their own path. A world that changes their hands is a world that changes them, friend; Fen'Harel makes your veil, history becomes history,_ " it adopted an angry tone, "You know it in a painful way; we are the last of the Elvhenan. Never again shall we submit. The Dalish do not and cannot exist without that suffering, as much as it pains me to say."

It clicked.

If she wanted her companions to exist as they were in the future, history had to run its course. Or, at least, the veil had to be put up. Without it, her companions would not be who they are because history would have changed in a way that would not have allowed them to exist. This had one major implication about her goal of saving Thedas: the very thing that Solas wanted to tear down, had to be brought up in the first place, which meant killing him _after_ the veil.

How long would that take? She was in Arlathan now; time was not as precious as a commodity as it was in the future so would she have to wait years, _centuries_ , for him to enact his plans? Would she even live for that long?

A sigh heaved out of her. “Maker, this is getting too complicated,” She turned to the spirit. “What would you have me do? I am at a disadvantage, but perhaps there’s an angle I’m missing.”

This was never a simple assassination and she was naïve for wanting it to be, but she did not want this to be another war to chase her. It was a considered course of action – war – but Fen’Harel surely had more powerful allies, and on top of that, she only wanted to kill _him_. She would avoid any others’ deaths as much as she could.

_Though_ , she thought, _I don’t think I’m going to have any luck with that_.

“ _I do not think I can help you in the way you want_ ,” It paused. “ _The seeds of the future are sown in the past. Grow a tree in a year, and perhaps you’ll see it bloom in a thousand._ ”

She pondered. “Like a ripple, hey? Dip my foot in the water and a ripple will make it’s way to the other side, albeit a little weaker. What happens if I _don’t_ have a foot to ‘dip in the water’?”

“ _You are more than Inquisitor, than templar, than general; you are you. Helping the hurt is what I can do, but being a leader? That’s you. If you don’t have the means to save your world, then make some._ ”

A laugh bubbled inside her throat until it burst, causing Illara to throw her head back with laughter.

‘If you have no means then make some’? Maker, that was incredibly on the nose, but so incredibly correct; she had to get over lamenting and actually start doing the things she needed to do. Bloody hell, it always seemed like her answers were right in front of her, but she was too enamoured with complex plots and red herrings to consider it.

Her ultimate goal was to save the Thedas of the future. That including preserving the personalities of not only her companions, but all of Thedosians themselves. For this to happen, she would need to let Solas put up the Veil, let him cause the breach – so then Corypheus could be dealt with – while finding ways through all this to destroy his plans of tearing the Veil down. She would need to be present at least before Corypheus is killed for good, otherwise Solas goes missing and she’d lose her advantage. An idea sprung to her mind – the Inquisition would be formed again, if her history could be trusted in the future, and this means at one point, the Inquisitor and Morrigan would take a party to the Abor Wilds, finding the Temple of Mythal. If she could somehow get to the temple before Solas raised the Veil – and figure out uthenara before then too – she could awake at the temple in the future.

Not exactly her ideal situation, however. 

First, though her memory was slightly hazy, she recalled that the Inquisition had made considerable steps against Corypheus before reaching temple, which meant that the final attack against him was probably close after the temple. 

Second, she would be in an incredibly weakened state, in no condition to do anything. There was fighting at the temple so how the hell would she be able to do that?

Third, how the fuck would she secure enough brownie points to sleep at a place of worship to a prideful, cryptic, god-like elf?

Compassion’s warm touch was on her shoulder. “You are capable. You are strong, now, so you can heal the scarring of the future,” It gestured towards her cleaned up arm, “ _Ise was right to be curious; Valosa had said some terrible things about the condition of your arm and he is not known to exaggerate_.”

Illara laughed. “Then luckily they both didn’t see it when my arm _actually_ looked like trash,” then she added, “Before Valosa healed it.”

“ _Yes, you were really hurt. The anchor never pulsed as badly but you thought at least the bleeding stopped. At least something had stopped._ ”

“Well, the first step of many,” she vowed.

“ _The first._ ” Compassion agreed.


End file.
